


A Moral Elf, Celegorm

by RoseoftheBrightSea



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Based loosely off Phineas Gage, Brain Damage, First Kinslaying, Gen, Memory Loss, TBI, personality change
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-06-27 03:15:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15676911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseoftheBrightSea/pseuds/RoseoftheBrightSea
Summary: An unusual take on how Celegorm, friend of Oromë, master of Huan, changed into one of the most hated Kinslayers.





	1. Chapter 1

Celegorm stared, wide-eyed and desperate, as his father stirred the crowd to anger. He barely comprehended Fëanor’s words. How could he slander the Valar with such broad strokes? Aulë and Yavanna had always welcomed their family with open arms, as had Oromë and Vána. Surely, the claims of their collaboration with Melkor should have gone ignored.

Yet as he looked around, Celegorm saw the Noldor’s irrationality. Terror gripped some, fury others. The crowd seemed to swell as Fëanor’s speech reached its climax, surging forward and trembling, as if their bodies were unable to bear Fëanor’s passion.

Celegorm searched through the sea of bodies. _Mahtan... Amm_ _ë_ _..._ They would know what to do. Celegorm had no talent with words, but his grandfather and mother could calm even the hottest of hearts.

“Be he for or friend, be he foul or clean...”

Celegorm froze. He had stopped listening to his father’s speech, but the voice speaking no longer belonged to Fëanor. It was a fraction higher, less smooth, and just as passionate. Celegorm hesitated, then turned to face the pulpit.

_Oh, Curufin,_ he thought mournfully. _What have you done?_

Celegorm was not surprised to see his younger brother there, following their father into madness. Curufin was Fëanor’s shadow. It would be unreasonable to expect him to do otherwise. Still, Celegorm’s heart clenched at the sight.

Curufin finished his pledge and stepped aside _,_ his sword still unsheathed and glimmering in the torchlight. Celegorm had hoped that would be the end of it, though he knew better. Caranthir stepped forward, but he was cut off. Maedhros began to repeat the oath.

“No!” Celegorm shouted, trying to meet his brother’s eyes. His cry was drowned out by the excited crowd.

_Don_ _’_ _t do this,_ Celegorm thought, praying for his eldest brother to stop. _You_ _’_ _re supposed to be the responsible one, the one who knows better. Not me! Not me, damn you!_

Caranthir said the words next. Celegorm had expected that. He had _not_ expected Maglor, sweet, brooding Maglor, to follow. Celegorm cursed and began to push through the crowd.

The twins. He could save the twins. Grab them, force them back into the crowd, away from immediate attention. Amras might hate him for it, but Amrod was probably already trying to find a way out of the oath, without insulting their father or brothers. Celegorm could at least give him an excuse. Amrod could face Fëanor later and blame Celegorm’s interference. At the very least, it would buy him time.

He was too late, of course. Amras stepped out right as Maglor finished, pulling his twin out with him. They swore the oath together, although Celegorm could scarcely hear Amrod’s voice. His face was so pale, so terrified.

_Iluv_ _á_ _tar, spare him. He doesn_ _’_ _t mean this. He is just a boy, afraid to let his brethren down._ Celegorm was not one to pray, but he had to assume Eru would hear him.

A hand tugged at his tunic. Celegorm looked down, shocked to see his nephew.

“I’m scared, Uncle,” Celebrimbor whispered. “I don’t think I can.”

“Whosoever hideth or taketh...”

Celegorm looked across the platform, meeting his father’s burning gaze. Fëanor’s eyes flickered between Celegorm and Celebrimbor, a deranged half-smile on his lips. _Give me the boy,_ that smile seemed to say. _Give me the boy and you can go free._

“Darkness doom us if our deed faileth...”

“Run,” Celegorm ordered, pushing Celebrimbor away. “Find your mother or Nerdanel, or one of Finarfin’s, and stay with them.”

“But—“

“Go,” Celegorm hissed. “And if you ever take this oath upon yourself, I will personally beat you into the ground.”

Celebrimbor hesitated for a moment, then scampered away. Celegorm looked to his father. Fëanor’s eyes narrowed, but before he could react further, Celegorm stepped out, taking his place beside Amrod. Fëanor raised an eyebrow in surprise.

_A smarter man could_ _’_ _ve found a better way,_ Celegorm thought, placing a hand on Amrod’s shoulder and squeezing lightly. He looked out to the crowd, finally finding Mahtan, face hollow with dread. _Well, I never claimed to be anything other than a stupid fool._

He swallowed. “Be he foe or friend...”

* * *

 

“It’s not like we can force them to join us,” Celegorm said for the third time.

Fëanor glared, his smoldering rage barely controlled. Maedhros shifted uncomfortably between them, clearly trying to find a way to send Celegorm on some distant errand. Celegorm pointedly ignored his brother.

“Why swear the Oath if you mean to be so utterly useless?” Fëanor snapped.

“I am being practical,” Celegorm said by means of answering. He didn’t trust himself to speak of Celebrimbor, especially not with Curufin lurking nearby. “Olwë won’t accept any offer, not now that you’ve insulted him.”

Fëanor bristled. “We wait for Caranthir and the others to arrive. Their strength and our should be enough?”

“Enough?” Celegorm’s blood went cold. “You don’t mean...”

“We need those ships,” Fëanor said.

“They will likely see our strength and step aside,” Maedhros offered, though he looked only half-convinced.

“And if they don’t?” Celegorm demanded.

Fëanor shrugged with exaggerated indifference. “Let us hope it doesn’t come to that.”

The Falmari were a proud people, not easily pushed into submission. They would not give up their most treasured possessions without protest. It was idiotic to suggest otherwise.

“We can build our own ships,” Celegorm suggested. “Maybe even see if we can buy a few.”

“Too slow,” Fëanor said dismissively.

Celegorm gaped. He looked to Maedhros for assistance, but his older brother merely looked away.

“They are our kin,” Celegorm reminded them, though the argument was meant more for Maedhros than Fëanor. “Our cousins were born in that city. Olwë and his are our family through Finarfin.”

“Not by blood,” Fëanor hissed.

“Is that why you ignored Mahtan? And my mother?” Celegorm asked, refusing to turn away from his father’s seething glare or Maedhros’s pleading eyes. “Because they were not yours by blood?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. Celegorm stalked away, trying to himself from hitting Curufin as he passed.

“Where are you going?” Fëanor shouted.

“To take a piss and find Huan.”

No one followed. That was good, although a small part of Celegorm wished they would have. It would be nice to hit someone.

He found Huan by beach, curled up in the sand. The great hound lifted his head as Celegorm approached, then huffed and settled himself back down. Celegorm sat beside him, running his hand across Huan’s fur. Huan growled softly.

“I know,” Celegorm said. “I don’t like it either.”

Caranthir and the Ambarussa would arrive within the hour, bringing with them hundreds of armed followers. Alqualondë had a significantly larger population, but they had little more than light bows and fishing spears. Neither would win out against steel, even if handled by superior numbers. Olwë might realize his disadvantage and stand down.

“Then again, that isn’t stopping us,” Celegorm muttered, thinking about the host they chased. Oromë had told him of Melkor’s twisted creatures. They might very well be chasing after their deaths. Mahtan had said as much, when they left Tirion. Celegorm had never known his grandfather to be wrong.

* * *

 

Celegorm watched the first man fall. A sailor pulled at one of the men near Fëanor, trying to confront the thief face to face. Instead, he was met with a sword.

Chaos ensued. It swallowed the docks in a single gulp, dying wood and water red with blood. Celegorm tried to shout over the noise, but it was futile. No one could hear him, or if they did, they didn’t care to listen.

Two sailors rushed him, armed with only ropemaking sticks. Celegorm ducked the first swing, then kicked the assailant in the stomach, sending him tumbling back and into the water. He could swim to shore, Celegorm hoped. The bruise would heal.

The second man’s swing came too quickly to dodge. Celegorm took most of the blow against his right shoulder. He cursed in pain, then swung his sword in the attacker’s direction, forcing the man back.

“Get away,” he shouted. “Go!”

The man’s eyes widened in shock. Celegorm shouted again, realizing too late it was not his instructions that were so surprising. A steel blade pierced through the man’s chest, its bloodied tip poking through his tunic. The corpse crumpled to the ground as the sword pulled away.

Celegorm didn’t recognize the Noldo, only the Fëanorian star on his back. The soldier nodded, then turned his attention to another sailor.

_You knew this was coming_ , Celegorm reminded himself. That didn’t make the body easier to look at. _Oh Eru, what am I doing?_

Hasty. Nerdanel always teased him for that. Celegorm never waited, never thought things through. He just did. He stole pastries from the kitchens and snuck out at night to see his cousins, never stopping to consider the consequences. Fëanor could reprimand him all he liked, but Celegorm never changed. He was the fool who never thought things through.

He leaped over the sailor’s body and swung. His sword connected with the Noldo’s neck, spraying Celegorm with warm blood. It wasn’t a foreign sensation. Celegorm knew what it meant to take a life, but his stomach still lurched. This was his countryman, not a wild boar. Celegorm still swung again.

For a brief moment, the Falmari and Noldor alike stopped, staring at him with shocked expressions. It was all the opening Celegorm needed. It was easy to tell which were of his own faction, with their steel armor and swords. They came to their senses after just moment but were too late to stop Celegorm’s next attack. He kicked the body off his sword and turned to face the rest.

* * *

 

Huan’s fur was matted with blood, but the great hound kept pace with Celegorm, cutting through Fëanor’s followers as best they could. Celegorm couldn’t think about how many had died between the two of them. Years as Oromë’s huntsman gave him the advantage.

It wouldn’t last for long. Someone would get in a lucky swing and bring him to the ground, but maybe it would be enough to make a dent for the Falmari. Celegorm had to take solace in that. He could die doing the right thing. That would be enough.

“Traitor!”

The voice was ample warning. Celegorm spun and countered the unhinged swing. Curufin stumbled back, panting heavily, face as red as Caranthir.

“Pull back,” Celegorm ordered. He raised his blade defensively.

“You already betray your oath?” Curufin shouted. “Fine. Be a coward. Do not damn the rest of us with you!”

“Find another way,” Celegorm growled. Huan snapped at Curufin, but Celegorm ordered him away. He didn’t think he could live with that image — Curufin’s throat opened by Huan’s jaws.

Curufin sneered. “Do it!”

“Wh—”

_Oh_ , Celegorm thought, the pain rushing through his body at a devastating speed. It was an idle, undirected thought and passed quickly. Celegorm’s world went dark.


	2. Chapter 2

Celebrimbor stared, wide-eyed and desperate, as his uncle stirred the crowd to anger.

 _I should have let you die_.

He was horrified by that thought. It was a miracle Celegorm had survived when Celebrimbor pulled the sword from his skull. Celebrimbor had been certain the wound would kill him, especially being out on the open sea during those first critical days. When he woke up, another miracle was granted. Celegorm could move and speak. It was awkward at first, but over the years, his functioning improved. At least, his physical functioning had.

There was a price to such a miraculous survival. Celegorm swore he could remember Aman, but Celebrimbor saw the truth. He faltered at every detail or flat out lied. No one corrected him. Celebrimbor had tried once, only to be shouted from the room.

Or perhaps the missing memories were a symptom of something else. Could the body survive without the soul? Celebrimbor did not know. But if Celegorm’s _fëa_ survived Alqualondë, it had been twisted beyond recognition into something dark and cruel.

 _Maybe you did die,_ Celebrimbor thought, watching Celegorm's words infect Nargothrond.  _Maybe._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the following anonymous poem:
> 
> "A moral man, Phineas Gage,  
> Tamping powder down holes for his wage,  
> Blew the last of his probes  
> Through his two frontal lobes;  
> Now he drinks, swears, and flies in a rage.”


End file.
